


one third bad intentions, one third avarice, and one eighth sawdust

by splendidlyimperfect



Series: Gratsu Week 2k18 [5]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thieves, Con Artists, Erza is super badass as usual, Gratsu Week 2018, Gray is pining for him, I mean a LOT, M/M, Natsu is a cocky little shit, Sting's kind of an asshole, Team as Family, Thieves Guild, Tumblr: FTLGBTales, but a loveable one, they swear a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-08 23:32:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15254496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splendidlyimperfect/pseuds/splendidlyimperfect
Summary: Natsu and Gray are members of Fairy Tail, one of the thieves' guilds of Magnolia. When Natsu steps over a line and gets himself caught by the Watch, how far will Gray and the rest of the guild go to save him?





	one third bad intentions, one third avarice, and one eighth sawdust

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Gratsu Week 2k18  
> Day 5, Prompt: Caught
> 
> Mature rating is for very vulgar language. Huge thanks to mdelpin, zane_takeshi and Jinx13GXA for helping me out with the insults. ;) 
> 
> This story is an homage to "The Lies of Locke Lamora" by Scott Lynch - if you haven't read it, you should! Some characters might be OOC because of the way they speak, my apologies. Here is the quote that inspired the story: 
> 
> “I've got kids that enjoy stealing. I've got kids that don't think about stealing one way or the other, and I've got kids that just tolerate stealing because they know they've got nothing else to do. But nobody--and I mean nobody--has ever been hungry for it like this boy. If he had a bloody gash across his throat and a physiker was trying to sew it up, Lamora would steal the needle and thread and die laughing. He...steals too much.”  
> ― Scott Lynch, The Lies of Locke Lamora

“You,” hissed Gray angrily, pressed against the stone wall, “have a problem.”  

It was nearing midnight and the bridge was mostly silent above them, save for the sound of gulls cawing over any scraps the nobles might have left behind. Underneath the bridge was not nearly as pleasant. The scent of dead seaweed and bloated fish assaulted Gray’s nostrils, and he shifted his feet to avoid sinking into the muck.  

“Me?” Natsu tried his best to look innocent – difficult with his hood up and a mask covering half his face. Gray knew he was smirking, though. It was the eyebrows.  

“Yes, you,” he whispered. He peeked up around the edge of the bridge and quickly ducked down, out of sight of the guard patrolling the entrance. Gray glared at Natsu, gesturing to the breast of his doublet where several coin purses were stashed. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but you...you  _steal too much.”_  

“No such thing,” Natsu insisted, reaching into an inner pocket and drawing out a ruby necklace – one of the many treasures he’d amassed over the course of the fancy party they’d bluffed their way into. “They’re probably not even looking for us anymore.” 

“That little cunt-rotting cock-fondler's gotta be around here somewhere!” Gray glared harder and the upper half of Natsu’s face looked sheepish.  

“Okay, they  _might_ still be looking,” he conceded, tucking the necklace back into his doublet. “But half the Watch can’t find their own arses with both hands and a map. We’ll be fine.”  

Gray sighed, rubbing his face and glancing up at the bridge again. On the north side lay Upper Magnolia, a land of fancy parties and shiny, expensive things. Things that were currently tucked into the various pockets of both their outfits.   

“She was one of the  _peerage,”_ he growled, referring to the Doña from whom Natsu had lifted the necklace. While kissing her. Around the corner from her husband. “You could have stolen from literally  _anyone_ at that party  _except her._ Jiemma’s going to cut your hands off and shove them down your throat, and I’m not even going to feel sorry for you.”  

The pact between the thieves’ guilds and Jiemma, Capa of the crime syndicate and collector of protection money disguised as taxes, was that the peerage was off limits – the Dons and Doñas and, of course, the Duke and Duchess themselves. Minor lords and ladies were fair game, but Natsu...well, he had gone too far. As usual.  

“Jiemma has to catch me first,” Natsu grinned. “And you’d miss these hands.” He winked and wriggled his fingers in front of him. Gray was glad that Natsu couldn’t see the flush that rose to his cheeks – their only illumination being the thin rays of moonlight that passed underneath the bridge. The same bridge that they would have been able to cross safely if Natsu wasn’t such a colossal fuckwit.  

“It’s not Jiemma catching us we have to worry about, it’s  _them.”_ Gray gestured to the bridge where several guards were now gathering, gasping about the injustice of a noblewoman being robbed by a whoreson from the Gallows. “How in the nine hells are we going to get back?”  

“We could swim?” Natsu suggested, and Gray blinked, uncertain if he was serious. He could never tell with Natsu – bad ideas sprouted from him like deathbloom from a corpse. The worst part was, the madder the idea, the more likely it was to work out in his favor. Everybody else, however, was bound by the normal rules of Lady Luck. Including Gray.  

“You want your cock bit off by a shark?” Gray asked, peering upward again. The bridge spanned a wide river that separated Upper Magnolia from the Gallows – a land of corruption and indecency. It also happened to be where the two of them called home. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this job.”  

“You love it as much as I do,” Natsu insisted, shifting uncomfortably in the muck. Gray shook his head emphatically.  

“No, Natsu.  _Nobody_ loves stealing things as much as you do.” He sighed. “Like I said, you have a problem.”  

“All right then, oh ye of irascible mood,” Nastu muttered, tugging the mask down from his face. The deep scar through his lips made his smile even more crooked than it used to be, and Gray closed his eyes to avoid finding it endearing. They needed to get across the bridge without arousing suspicion that  _they_ were the guilty parties the Watch was looking for. “We could do ‘drunk and disorderly’?”  

“You didn’t bring anything for the sick,” Gray argued, shaking his head, eyes still closed. “At least I hope you didn’t, and if you’ve been hiding it on you then I’m officially never touching you again.” Natsu made an overdramatic noise of protest. “And I doubt you’d be able to spew your fancy dinner on command.”  

“Point taken.” Natsu hummed in contemplation. “Lepers?”  

“No.”  

“Elderly-”  

“No.”  

“Get he-” 

“No.”  

“Well, then you know the only other option.”  

“Absolutely not.” Gray crossed his arms, scowling at Natsu. His hose were beginning to itch where several wallets were tucked inside, and his feet were sweating in his uncomfortable leather dress shoes.  

“Do you have any better ideas?” Natsu grinned, already removing the mask from around his neck and undoing his mantle. Gray groaned, bringing his hand to the clasp of his own cloak.  

“Fine,” he muttered, loosening the laces on the front of his doublet and tugging it off. Natsu took it and the cloak and stashed them beneath a loose brick in the bridge’s foundation, then stood and began undoing his own doublet. It was a dark, rich green that brought out the mischievous glint in his eyes, and Gray was sad to see it go. Not that he had only agreed to this job to see Natsu in these clothes, though. Nothing of the sort.  

Soon they were both dressed only in their patterned silken hose and plain linen undershirts. They shifted and rearranged their clothing to accommodate their stolen goods, Natsu tucking his take in a tight-fitted undershirt. He pulled his distinctive hair under a gathered hat, then turned to Gray, bowing and holding out his elbow.  

Gray rolled his eyes and acquiesced, begrudgingly, letting Natsu lead him carefully out from under the bridge and back onto the streets of Upper Magnolia. The alchemical streetlights were dimmed for the late hour, and the scent of fish and waste was soon replaced by a much fairer smell of the lemon trees that lined the boulevard. Gray wiped the mud from his boots surreptitiously, then slicked a hand through his hair to ensure it matched the style of every other boot-licking highborner. 

“There’s only four of them.” Gray sighed with relief as they approached the bridge arm-in-arm, looking every part the enamoured couple out for an evening stroll after one too many cups of Clover wine. “You don’t seem too soused. How fast can you run?”  

“Faster than you, and that’s what counts,” Natsu whispered in his ear. His lips very nearly brushed Gray’s skin and Gray heroically attempted to  _not_ react to the sensation, instead elbowing Natsu in the ribs. “Hey,” the other man protested as they made their way toward the guards, stumbling at appropriate intervals. “We’re supposed to be lovers, remember?”  

Gray nodded, teeth clenched. He hated this act. Not because he didn’t want to play the part of drunken truelove with Natsu, because  _gods above_ did he. It just wasn’t  _real_. Groping his friend for the sake of fucking the guard up the arse would be more fun if he didn’t spend the whole time wishing it was legitimate. And it wasn’t.  

Of course Natsu flirted with him. He flirted with everybody. The Doña as he took her necklace, the apothecary down the street when they needed potions, lords and ladies as he teased their wallets from them. He’d flirted with one of the Watch, once, and even made the mistake of making eyes at Capa Jiemma’s daughter, Minerva. That had ended with Gray sewing nearly sixty stitches in his skull. So yes, he flirted, but none of it was ever  _real._ Gray had started to suspect that Natsu had true feelings for nobody.  

“Kiss me,” Natsu whispered and Gray’s chest clenched painfully, stomach brewing a mix of anticipation and disappointment as he wrapped a hand around Natsu’s neck and pressed their lips together. It was thrilling each time, even though it was only an act. Natsu tasted like the elderflower wine they’d been drinking whilst pretending to be highborn – sweet and honeyed. Gray melted into the sensation, pulling back only when Natsu faked a stumble and leaned against the bridge.  

“Oi! You two! Bridge is closed, go bugger each other in an alley somewhere!”  

Gray raised his eyebrows at Natsu and then shoved him, who faked a drunken stumble until he was on other other side of the guard.  

“Don’t think you can stick a tongue down my throat and all’s forgiven,” Gray shouted, louder than necessary and with the right words slurred. “Go back to your harlot, you syphilitic... plague rat.” Natsu glowered and waved a hand dismissively in front of him.  

“She meant nothing,” he protested, lurching again, this time closer to the Gallows end of the bridge. “Just a tight hole ‘twixt a pair of legs.”  

“Look, nobody wants to hear your spat,” the guard began, but Gray cut him off, wobbling toward him and placing a hand on his shoulder.  

“That man,” he said seriously, watching Natsu inch closer to the other guards, “is a dogfucking shitknob.” The guard shrugged off his hand and Gray managed to maneuver their positions so that he was now closer to Natsu. “You sh-should arrest him.”  

“Gentlemen!” Natsu shouted, gesturing broadly to the other three guards who were staring suspiciously at him. “If a whore spreads her legs for you, what do you do?” They were silent and he shook his head, clicking his tongue in disappointment. He stumbled a little, catching himself on one of the men and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “You dip your wick, don’t’cha?”  

The guards murmured in agreement and Gray resisted the urge to roll his eyes, turning instead to wave a wobbly hand at Natsu.  

“You... bawdy...” He trailed off, faking a loss of mental faculties. “You broke my heart!” A bit thick, but the guards were eating it up. He paused for effect. “So I’m going to break... your kneecaps. With a... a hammer.”  

“Bold words!” Natsu declared, inclining his head slightly. All the guards were frowning now, watching the altercation with interest. Bridge watch was generally a dull occupation – nobody from Upper wanted to touch the shithole that was the Gallows. Unless, of course, they were  _from_ the Gallows.  

“I just... I need... a hammer.” Gray made a show of looking confused, patting himself down as if a hammer might materialize from his shirt, then widening his eyes in faux-realization. “Blacksmith’s got hammers! Gonna get one.” He sneered at Natsu. “Then break your dick while I’m at it.”  

“Not... not if I get there first!” Natsu signalled Gray with a twitch of his fingers at his hip and Gray nodded, turning on his heel toward the Gallows and breaking into a run.  

There were a few seconds where their feet pounded against the stone and they grinned at each other wildly, and then the wind lifted up and tugged at Natsu’s cap, revealing his  _very_ distinctive pink hair.  

“Shit,” Natsu whispered, then shouted backwards, “Fuck you and your mothers!”  

“It’s him! Stop them!” The captain’s voice sounded from the end of the bridge and Gray pushed harder, sprinting as quickly as he could in the ridiculous fancy boots he wore. They were only halfway, but the guards wouldn’t go into the rabbit warren that was the Gallows, so once their feet hit dirt they were home free. Gray felt his lungs starting to burn but he pushed harder, only skidding to a stop when he heard a  _thwack-thwack_ sound and a cry from Natsu.  

He turned to see his friend sprawled on the bridge, face-down with a crossbow bolt sticking out of the back of his left calf and another in his right shoulder. A patch of red was rapidly spreading through the off-white of his shirt. Natsu tried to push himself to his feet but cried out in pain, dropping back to the ground. Gray moved to help him, but he shook his head.  

“Go.” The guards were catching up and Gray stood, frozen in indecision. Natsu snarled at him, shaking his head. “Go, or they’ll catch you and hang you, too.”  

“I can’t,” he whispered, stepping towards Natsu again.  

“If you don’t leave  _right now,_ I’m going to haunt you so hard you’ll never shit in peace again,” Natsu growled, digging a hand into his shirt and tugging out the purse. He threw it at Gray and gave him a rare, genuine smile. “I’ll steal the devil’s crown and when I see you in hell, I’ll be king.” Gray swallowed, feeling tears forming at the corners of his eyes. “I'm sorry. Now go.”  

 _“Blessed are the quick and the daring for they shall inherit the night,”_  Gray whispered quickly, making the symbol of the Crooked Warden with his left hand. He held Natsu’s gaze until the pounding footsteps were dangerously close, then turned and scurried back into the Gallows.  

 

* * *

 

“What’s the password?” Gray growled at the sound of Sting’s voice through the locked guild door, light and teasing. The idiot never took anything seriously.  

“There is no password, you shit-eating cunt.” There was a muffled laugh and the door slid open to reveal a tall, blonde man dressed in dark leather, sheathed knives strapped to each thigh. He crossed his arms and grinned at Gray.  

“You guessed it!” He said cheerfully, but his smile fell when he saw the dark expression on Gray’s face. “What happened?” He looked behind Gray and frowned. “Where’s Natsu?”  

“That... pink-haired  _orgy_ of indecency managed to get himself captured by the Watch.” Sting’s eyes widened as Gray slammed the door behind him, and he made a complicated gesture in front of his face. “Knock that off,” Gray growled, slapping Sting’s hand out of the way. “He’s not dead yet.”  

“Might as well be,” another voice argued, and Gray glanced over to see Rogue sitting on one of the tables, cleaning under his nails with a thin dagger. He was dressed in a similar outfit to Sting’s, but his boots were on the floor and his feet were bare. “Thieves get hanged. You know that.”  

“Not if we break him out,” Gray argued. Sting and Rogue looked at him like he’d suggested seducing the Duchess of Magnolia, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Look, it can’t be impossible. Nothing’s impossible.”  

“Nothing was impossible for  _him,”_ Sting said, then yelped as Gray shoved him backward.  

“Don’t talk about him like he’s already dead,” he snarled. “Hanging’s aren’t until tomorrow after evening bells. Means we got about... eighteen hours to come up with a plan to get him out without being caught. Where’s Erza?”  

“Here.” A steely-eyed redheaded woman appeared from the back of the room, wringing out her wet hair and giving Gray an unimpressed look. “What did our magnificent idiot manage to fuck up spectacularly this time?”  

“Stole from the Doña and got a bolt in the back,” Gray sighed, leaning against the heavy oak table in the center of the room. The converted wine cellar served as a convenient – if damp – base of operations for the guild. “And we’re getting him out.”  

“Capa Jiemma will have us all disemboweled and hang our bloody entrails from a flagpole if we interfere with the Magistrates,” Rogue commented, tossing his dagger so it embedded itself in the wall with a soft  _thwack_. “You know they’re off-limits. Get caught, greet the Crooked Warden with a noose around your neck.” A tiny curl of his lip was the only indication that he wasn’t seriously considering condemning their friend to being hanged on the Black Bridge.  

“Jiemma can drown in horse piss,” Gray spat. Rogue gave him a rare half-smile, tipping his head back so the hair fell out of his eyes.  

“Natsu broke the rules,” he commented idly, and Gray sighed, rubbing his face. He reached into his shirt and tugged out the purse, dropping it onto the table. Sting’s eyes widened as he looked at the sigil embroidered in gold onto the deep velvet cloth. 

“He really lifted from the Doña?” Rogue leaned forward and poked the purse, and coins came tumbling out – copper barons, silver solons, and even one or two gold tyrins. And, of course, the gods-damned necklace. Sting whistled. “Stupid, but that’s a lot of coin.”  

Sting had a point. This was more coin than they’d lifted in the past six months combined and would definitely give them an edge on their next con.  

“Well, we’re going to be using it to get him out of this bit of fuckery he’s fall into,” Gray said, running a hand through his hair and letting it fall from the noble style back into a messy fringe. “And then I’m going to put my foot so far up his fool arse that he’ll be kissing my boot.” 

“You’ll put  _something_ up his arse,” Sting snickered quietly, winking at Rogue. Gray’s face turned an unpleasant shade of red but he ignored the comment.  

“All right,” Erza said, picking up one of the tyrins and inspecting it carefully. She nodded in appreciation. “Where do we start?”  

“Well...” Gray exhaled sharply, leaning forward and putting both hands on the worn table. “We’re going to need a body.”  

 

* * *

 

“This is probably the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done.” Sting choked on his words as he helped Gray manhandle the corpse between them, dragging it down the street. Now far past midnight, the side streets were quiet and pitch black, lit only by the small alchemical globe Gray held in his right hand. “Instinct generally tells me to stay away from dead bodies.”  

Gray ignored him, trying his best not to be sick. The body was less than a day old, found in one of the many back alleys of the Dregs, passed out after ingesting too much of whatever alchemical compound was currently popular for forgetting that one’s existence was a shitty mockery of life. It was male, older than Natsu and slightly sturdier, but it would do the trick. Now they just needed an alchemist.  

“So, what’s the plan?” Sting asked after several minutes of silence. The skittering of rats and other night creatures could be heard around them, and everything stank of shit and piss. The Dregs was the poorest of the poor areas – a perfect place to steal a corpse, since it was likely nobody would miss it.  

“Alchemist’s up a few blocks,” Gray said, grunting and shifting the corpse’s arm around his shoulder. Having his face so close to its was unnerving. “We need to color this poor bastard’s hair and get the Falsedeath. And then ensure the alchemist will keep quiet.”  

“How quiet do we want him?” Sting asked. His gaze dropped to the stilettos hanging from a braided leather belt at his waist, but Gray shook his head.  

“Bargain first,” he said, turning a corner and making their way up the hill. “Less bodies the better.” The moonlight reached here, bathing the cobblestones in a cold, harsh light. Gray pocketed the alchemical lamp and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. “Most men are easily swayed by the offer of  _not_ peeling off their fingernails. Or cutting off their cock and beating them to death with it.”  

Sting tilted his head in agreement as Gray gestured at an unmarked door on the left-hand side of the street. A few rats skittered away as Sting knocked at the splintering wood.  

“What do you want?” The door opened a crack to reveal a dirty, elderly man with sparse hair. A faintly burnt smell clung to his stained robes, and the sickly sweet scent of deathsbloom wafted out into the night. Even in the dark, Gray could see that the man’s fingers were stained with the black flower’s essence.  

“Got a job for you,” he said. “If you can keep your mouth shut.”   

As it turned out, the alchemist did indeed enjoy keeping both his cock and fingernails intact, and very enthusiastically agreed to change the corpse’s hair and keep quiet about the entire ordeal. It didn’t take long, and Gray felt a keen sense of irony when he paid the man an extra bribe from the purse Natsu had lifted from one of the nobles at the party. He was handed an unlabeled glass vial in exchange and he made a face at the contents.  

“I can’t believe we’re going to fuck with the magistrates,” Sting commented as they left the alchemist’s shop, corpse this time interred in a small, covered cart that they both pulled. It was much easier than supporting it between them, and much less conspicuous. “If the Duke finds ou-”  

“He can do whatever he likes to me, if he finds out,” Gray hissed quietly. He flashed a glance over at Sting and then returned his gaze to the street, eyes flitting across the darkened windows and closed doors. “Let’s just get Natsu out first and figure out the rest later.”  

“You’re so  _sweet_ on him,” Sting teased, bumping his elbow against Gray’s. “I know I tease you about the – y'know.” He made a vaguely inappropriate gesture involving a ring made from his index and thumb encircling another finger. “But you’re really infatuated.”  

“Fuck off.” Gray’s voice was low and tight as he yanked himself away from Sting, nearly tipping the cart. It was nearing past four in the morning now, and they were passing from the Dregs up through to Ashfall, a slightly less perilous neighborhood with less piss but more beggars. A few haggard-looking women with scarves over their hair were opening up stalls where they sold hard, tastless biscuits and a strange spread made out of the sap of the Camorri tree. It made Gray realize that he hadn’t anything to eat since the caviar at the party the night before.  

“Look, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” Sting said, stumbling and then righting the cart as they passed over a hole in the cobblestones. He sighed, falling into step once again with Gray. “Look, everyone knows.” Gray’s shoulder’s tightened. “You’re not exactly discrete about your... inclinations.”  

“I’ve bedded women,” Gray protested half-heartedly as they turned down another side road. He glanced around casually to make sure they weren’t being followed.  

“Oh, sure,” Sting replied, gesturing vaguely in the air. “But we all know that if you died choking on a cock, you’d show up on the Crooked Warden’s doorstep with a smile on your face.”  

Gray’s cheeks turned a dark shade of pink and he cast his gaze toward the ground, jaw tight.  

“As if you’re one to talk,” he hissed, tightening his grip on the cart. “Walls are thin. We all know you and Rogue are at it like hares.”  

“You’re not wrong,” Sting admitted, voice softening somewhat. “But that’s why you’ve got to to tell our lovable, thick-headed bastard what he’ll never see.” Gray frowned. “He’s a genius with thieving, but an utter twit with feelings.”  

“Let’s just... work on getting him out of prison before talking about anything else,” Gray sighed. They’d finally it made it to their destination – a long-abandoned home in the central area of Ashfall. The door was nearly rotten through and Sting merely kicked it to get it out of the way. They trundled the cart inside, then Gray unrolled a thick mat and tossed it on the ground.  

“I think this plan’s going to work,” Sting grunted as they heaved the corpse back to the ground, crossing the man’s arms over his chest and assuring his lids were still closed. “Natsu’s got stupid luck, that twat. His wild plans always end up right-ways, even when it should all blow up in an unholy mess.”  

They spent the new few hours before sunrise keeping a lookout for the Guard, as well as playing Miseries of Balance - Sting was notoriously terrible at it, and by the time morning bells sounded, Gray was up by six solons. As the tolling faded and the harsh sun burned away the last wisps of the night, Gray tucked the cards into his pocket and they set the second part of their plan in motion.  

“I’m getting that back next game,” Sting grumbled, gesturing at Gray’s coinpuse with one of his stilettos. Sting had changed out of his leathers and into peasant’s garb – cheap, coarse breeches and a stained linen shirt. The blade was supposed to be out of sight, but parting Sting from it was always difficult. “You ready?”  

Gray glanced up at him from where he sat uncomfortably next to the corpse, dressed in much more selectively-chosen clothing. His pants had several compartments inside to hold various lock picks and needle daggers, and a length of silken rope was wound around his chest under his linen shirt. In his hand he held the vial from the alchemist, eyeing it with distaste.  

“You sure this’ll work?” he asked, tapping the side of the glass container. The liquid inside shifted slowly, the consistency of molasses.  

“’course it’ll work,” Sting reassured him, gesturing at him again with the stiletto. “He said he was the best alchemist in the Dregs.”  

“Being the best anything in the Dregs is like saying you’re the richest peasant in the Cauldron,” Gray grumbled, catching the apple that Sting tossed at him. “At the end of the day, you’re still covered in shit.” The skin of the fruit was pink and pearly, and he bit into it, crunching the white flesh loudly between his teeth. “This place is the  _arse_ of the arse of Magnolia. The...taint, if you will.”  

Sting snorted, packing up his leathers and Gray’s old clothes and stashing them in a large rucksack behind the door. The cart had been removed from the building, broken into pieces and thrown into the Alcegrante river before the sun had risen.  

Gray finished the apple quickly, core and all, then looked at the vial once more. He popped off the cork – it smelled as bad as it looked and he pinched his nose, tipping it into his mouth and swallowing it quickly.  

“Perelandro’s balls, that tastes awful,” he gasped, feeling it flush through his body, cold and metallic. His toes almost immediately began to go numb and he gestured for Sting to help him lie back.  

“Well, it’s not elderflower cordial now, its it?” Sting teased, grasping his hand and guiding him to lie down next to the corpse. “It should wear off after two hours – just long enough for the Croquemort to think you’re as dead as I’ve claimed you are.”  

“Lovely,” Gray mumbled, feeling the chill spread up his chest and down his arms. His fingers felt thick and heavy and a moment of panic shot through him. He gave Sting a terrified look. “This had better fucking work.”  

“Bring out the dead!” The raspy shout of the Croquemort interrupted their conversation and Gray felt Sting’s hand squeezing his briefly before he lost all feeling in his arms. He took one last deep breath and closed his eyes, ready to play a corpse.  

The Croquemort’s role had grown from necessity. Magnolia had become so large and sprawling in such a short time that the various poorer districts were flooded with disease and plague. Once a week, the Croquemort – who looked exactly like one would expect someone who dealt with corpses for a living to look – took his cart through the streets of the Gallows, gathering the dead and then dumping them onto a barge to be sent out to sea and burned. The nobles, of course, were interred on the Hill of Whispers in a much more respectable fashion.  

Although Gray’s eyes were closed and he couldn’t feel his body, he could tell that he was being jammed into the side of the cart, next to the faux-Natsu corpse. He wanted to gag – his nose still worked and the stench was nearly unbearable – but the Falsedeath had removed his ability to speak, move or even blink. His heart now beating so slowly that it was barely detectable, except by the most practiced physickers, but the Croquemort was not interested in pulses. He was interested in bodies.  

The sun beat down heavily on the cart as the effects of the tincture slowly wore off. Gray slept through most of the first portion of the trip, woken only by the shifting and adding of new bodies, but eventually he could feel his fingers and blink and move himself around a little again. He almost wished he was still asleep, as he was now half-covered by a new dead body – hopefully not one killed by the Whispering Sickness. He could see nothing, but it was easy to tell where in the city they were by the sounds around them.  

It was evening when they finally approached the Palace of Patience – Magnolia’s prison where all were held prior to sentencing and execution. The sun was dipping low in the western sky, casting reddened shadows over the cobblestone street and highlighting the intimidating presence of the building in front of them. Gray couldn’t see the gate, but he knew from memory that it was guarded by at least six of the Watch, and more of their kind wandered inside between the cells.  

“I am here on an official inspection and you  _will_ comply, you leech.” Ah, there was Erza – perfectly in character with a short, clipped accent of one born in Crocus. Gray caught a glimpse of her as they approached the gates. Her hair was painted a dark shade of honey and she was dressed in royal blue finery accented with silver. A rapier hung at her hip, and she looked every inch the Fioran inspection that she was impersonating.  

“W-we don’t have anything on the books, sir,” the captain protested, large mustache trembling over his lip. Gray knew from experience how terrifying Erza could be when she set her mind to it, and it appeared that the full extent of her wrath was currently directed at this portly man.  

“Do I look like I give a rat's arse about your  _books?”_ She sneered, snatching up a leather-bound ledger from the clerk and waving it in the air. It contained the information about each prisoner in the Palace, as well as their row and cell number. “You will follow your superior’s orders, and if  _any_ of these  _insignificant_ arsefuckers here try to interfere with my work, I will personally have you hung by the balls from the highest window of this building.” The captain winced. “Do I make myself clear?” She flashed a discrete hand-signal at the cart –  _crow’s cage._ Gray swore under his breath. 

“P-perfectly, sir,” the captain stammered, trying to figure out if he should bow to Erza or shake her hand, and if so, how deeply he should bow or if he should clasp her hand or forearm.  Gray sympathized with him – the intricacies of Crocus formality had been difficult for all of the guild to learn, especially their dining habits. The asininity of having sixteen forks arranged neatly around a tiny plate barely large enough for a sliced pear was infuriating to Gray. But being able to accurately impersonate anyone from anywhere in Fiore was a necessity in their line of work.  

As Erza and the guard captain continued their debate, the Croquemort moved his card forward, speaking lowly to the other guards.  

“Any dead today?”  

“Think I saw a poor bastard at the end of the second row choked out in a puddle of ‘is own piss,” the guard replied, shrugging nonchalantly and handing the Croquemort a keyring. The man took the keys and nodded, moving the cart slowly into the building and down one of the wide passages lined with cells.  

Gray focused on keeping his eyes closed and breathing shallowly as they moved down the first row. He could still hear Erza reaming out the guard captain in the background, but it wasn’t enough. There were too many guards here, their iron-tipped boots echoing on the dank flagstones. Where were- 

“CATCHFIRE!” Ah, there they were. Rogue’s panicked voice had the guard immediately murmuring in concern. An alchemical fire was incredibly dangerous to start and nearly impossible to put out. “The alchemist’s caught flame and it’s spreading to the market!” The theatrical inflection in Rogue’s voice may or may not have been faked – he and Sting had been known to burn down  _actual_ buildings before as a distraction for their cons. “Please, help!”  

“Well, what in the nine hells are you waiting for, you useless cunt?” Erza shouted at the guard captain, who stammered unintelligibly. “What’s the protocol for Catchfire? Do you not have some sort of policy in place to deal with alchemical mishaps? Or is this truly a den of the most witless cretins I’ve ever had the misfortune of working with?”  

The Croquemort turned around to see the spectacle and Gray cracked his eye open again, seeing Erza clout the captain across the head with the leather-bound book in her hands.  

“All of you! To the market district!” Erza shouted, motioning for the men in the hallways of the Palace to move toward her. “Now! Or I’ll cut your balls off and feed them to the fucking sharks!” The men began moving hastily forward, hands on their crossbows as they followed Rogue away from the Palace. “You four, stay here.” She motioned to the three men at the desk and the guard captain. “Since you’re not worth the calamity of your birth, I’ll take over at the market. Get your shit together or you’re going to regret it.”  

She stormed off down the street, hand on her rapier and shouting at the guards who jogged ahead of her. Gray assumed she was going to provide another distraction for Sting and Rogue to escape. Hopefully the fire was fabricated, but Gray wasn’t going to hold his breath.  

He felt the cart turn as the Croquemort returned to his duties, moving down the cells and pausing outside cell thirteen. The man inside appeared to have hung himself with the braided pieces of his own shirt. The stairs to the upper floors weren’t far ahead of them –  _perfect._ Gray took a deep breath, attempting to push himself up on his elbows.  

“Hello?” He coughed, gagging on the scent of the dead bodies around him, voice hoarse from the Falsedeath. “I think there’s been a mistake. I’m...not dead.”  

The Croquemort’s face appeared in front of him, half-hidden by a mask that was supposed to protect him from the various ailments of his charges. His eyes were wide and surprised and he tugged the mask down.  

“You ain’t dead?” He wheezed, rancid breath blowing in Gray’s face.  

“Apparently not,” Gray said, attempting to push the corpse next to him away so he could roll into a sitting position. The Croquemort aided him cautiously, brow still furrowed in concern. “At least, I don’t feel dead. And if this is the afterlife I can say with certainty that I have been thoroughly fucked.” He shook his head as if clearing his thoughts, bringing a hand to his temple. “I went for drinks last night, with the lads from the shipyard. One too many, I suppose.”  

“I suppose,” the Croquemort said slowly, seeming unconvinced. “Drink don’t typically make you stop breathin’, though.”  

“Guess I prayed to Lady Tabita enough, then!” Gray said, pushing himself to his feet. He reached out to the Croquemort as if to steady himself, then looked up at the man and grinned. “Or perhaps I’m just fucking with you.” The hand on the Croquemort’s shoulder suddenly produced a thin needle that pricked the man’s neck with barely any pressure. “Sleep well.”  

“What in the-” the Croquemort’s words ended abruptly as the fast-acting poison flowed through his veins and directly into his heart. The alchemist had assured Gray that it wouldn’t kill the man – although at this point Gray was rather neutral on the subject – but would instead knock him out for several hours and blur his memories. And nobody was going to believe him that a corpse came back to life anyway.  

Gray let the Croquemort slump unceremoniously, face-first onto the cart, and took a moment to stretch his aching muscles. He stowed the needle dagger in a pouch strapped inside his breeches, then looked down at the faux-Natsu corpse.  

“Time to be useful,” he grumbled, reaching down and pulling the corpse’s arms over his neck. He grunted with the weight, staggering to a standing position with the corpse slung over his left shoulder. “Let’s go save that idiot.”  

The stairs were hell. Gray stumbled over a few of them, bashing his knees into the hard stone and having to readjust the body each time. By the time he reached the top floor of the Palace he was panting, sweaty and out of breath. The hallway was long and narrow and ended in a barred wooden door with a heavy iron padlock. Gray leaned the corpse against the wall, then pulled out his lockpicks and had the door open within seconds. He swung it open and stepped out onto the wooden platform that led to the crow’s cage.  

He had intended to say something witty when he saw Natsu, or perhaps something angry, or even something mildly exasperated. But when he looked into the bars of the crow’s cage, dangling high above the city, he couldn’t say anything at all. Natsu's face was badly bruised, lip split and crusted with dried blood. The expression on Natsu’s face was the worst part – his perpetual grin had been replaced by a pensive, almost frightened look.  

“Natsu,” Gray whispered, sidling out across the platform as the wind whipped around him. Natsu’s head snapped up and his eyes widened in realization, disbelief written across his face.  

“What in the nine hells are you doing here?” He hissed, grasping the bars of the cage and inching closer to Gray. The expression of bewilderment on his face was unfamiliar. Gray didn’t like it.

“Getting you out of here,” Gray replied, wriggling his lockpicks in his hand. He could have taken the keyring from the Croquemort, but it would have looked suspicious. This had to look like nothing out of the ordinary had happened, except the Croquemort suffering a brief loss of wits, likely to be blamed on an excessive use of alchemical substances.  

“H-how...” Natsu’s voice trailed off as Gray reached out for the cage, drawing it along its track until it rested above the wooden platform. Then he crouched down until he was eye-level with the lock, inserting his tools and moving them carefully. After a moment there was a  _click_ and the door swung open. Gray reached out his hand to help Natsu out of his uncomfortable crouched position.  

“Help me get this bastard in there, he’s heavy,” he said, glancing down the hallway to make sure he hadn’t been followed. From up here he could see the market district, and it looked like something was  _definitely_ on fire. He sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.  

“That supposed to be me?” Natsu asked, some of the levity returning to his voice. He limped toward the corpse, dragging and arm over his shoulder and sidling back toward the cage. His left leg where the crossbow bolt had pierced was wrapped with nothing but a dirty rag.  

“Closest we could find,” Gray said, shrugging apologetically under the weight of the corpse. Between the two of them they manhandled him into the cage, sticking his legs out between the bars and shutting the door carefully behind them. Natsu turned to face Gray, a thousand emotions flickering across his face before he settled on gratitude.  

“You’re an idiot,” he said softly, which Gray knew meant  _thank you._  

“Couldn’t let our best cutpurse hang,” Gray muttered, feeling his ears grow warm and his cheeks flush. Natsu stepped closer to him, reaching out and clasping his forearm. Gray returned the gesture and was surprised when Natsu pulled him closer, embracing him and then brushing his lips across Gray’s cheek.  

“You do smell like death, though. And you’re insane.” Natsu grinned and Gray could tell he was trying to keep his tone light. “You know we’re stuck a hundred feet up now, right?”  

Gray grinned, tugging his shirt up to expose the silken cord wrapped several times around his torso. Natsu raised an eyebrow in appreciation, helping Gray unwind it. Gray tried to ignore the sensation when Natsu’s fingers brushed his skin but couldn’t suppress a shiver. He closed his eyes to avoid seeing Natsu’s reaction.  

“It’ll only get us halfway, a hundred feet was too thick and obvious,” Gray explained, tying the rope securely to the hinge of the door, then handing it to Natsu. “We’ll have to burn it once we get down – we can’t leave tracks.” Natsu nodded, shifting his weight to his right leg. “You going to be okay to climb?” Gray looked pointedly at the wounds on Natsu’s leg and shoulder. Natsu waved his hand in the air dismissively.  

“I’d rather fall to my death than hang from the Black Bridge,” he said, peering over the edge and closing his eyes, making the sign of Aza Guilla, Lady of the Long Silence. Gray followed suit, hoping it was merely a precaution and not a prayer to watch over them as they passed to the other side.  

“Let’s go before the guards come back.” Natsu nodded, letting Gray hold his forearms as he lowered himself over the edge and scrabbled for purchase on the uneven wall. As soon as he was steady Natsu grabbed the rope and began to lower himself slowly, step by careful step. Gray followed a respectable distance after, glancing down every so often to check that Natsu was still there.  

Gray and Natsu were no strangers to climbing. Once, he and Natsu had scaled one of the Elderglass spires, nearly four hundred feet in the air, in order to break into a vault that was deemed to be “uncrackable”. Natsu had taken that claim as a personal affront and had decided to immediately disprove it, dragging Gray along with him. That climb had been difficult and harrowing, but it was nothing compared to this.  

The first fifty feet weren't as difficult, as the silken rope provided assistance against the inevitable force of gravity. Once they reached the halfway point Gray pulled out a match, setting fire to the previously oil-soaked material and destroying all evidence of the escape.  

Now they were struggling against the winds that had picked up, and the light rain that was beginning to drizzle down made the handholds slippery. Their feet dug into the cracks in the buildings foundation, fingers straining to hold them up despite the earth’s insistence that they should fall. Gray was already exhausted, limbs still weak from the Falsedeath and carrying the corpse. At one point his arms were trembling so badly that he was certain that this was how he was going to die.  

“Gotcha.” Gray’s fingers gave out with ten feet left and he fell backward, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing for impact. It certainly wouldn’t be the farthest he’d ever fallen. Instead he was caught by strong arms, chest pressed against his back, hands resting on his stomach. “You’re exhausted.”  

“Yeah, it’s been a long day,” Gray quipped, collapsing forward onto his knees and leaning against the wall. “My dumb fuck of a friend decided to get caught and I had to save his sorry ass.” Natsu laughed, crouching down in front of Gray and grabbing his hands. He pulled them until they were face-up and inspected the damage.  

“Sounds like a prick,” Natsu said mildly, brushing his fingertips over the bruises and small cuts that decorated Gray’s fingers. Gray tried to keep himself from moving, from gasping, from groaning, but he couldn’t help the soft exhalation that escaped his lips. What was Natsu doing?  

“H-he is.” Gray tried to keep up the banter. “He’s a hopeless...” Natsu tipped his head to the side, grin transformed into a soft smile. “...scruffy-looking...” Natsu pulled Gray’s hands into his and brought them to his mouth, kissing the knuckles. “...ill-bred bastard.” Gray’s heart was pounding now, eyes wide.  

“Scruffy-looking, huh?” Natsu asked, dropping down until he was nearly kneeling in Gray’s lap. He reached an absent hand up to his jaw where a layer of stubble was forming. “I’ll give you that one.” Gray exhaled softly, wanting to laugh but still uncertain as to why Natsu was so close to him. There was no nobody around – no guards to trick or nobles to flatter. So what in the nine hells was he doing?  

“W-we should go,” he stammered, not wanting to damage whatever was happening but cognizant that the Catchfire was only going to be a distraction until it was put out. They needed to get back to the Gallows as quickly as possible, and it would be easier to get across the bridges with the guards preoccupied. 

“I know,” Natsu said softly. His face was open and it almost scared Gray. He saw it sometimes – flashes of Natsu’s real self with their friends and in the guild. But he wore so many faces and a nearly-permanent smirk, and now that was gone. He  _was_ smiling, but it was soft and fond and so, so close to Gray’s face. “Thank you.”  

“Y-you already...” Gray realized that Natsu was still holding onto his hands. “We couldn’t just leave you.”  

“We?” Natsu asked. Gray swallowed, torn between scrambling backwards and staying exactly where he was. “It was your idea, wasn’t it?” Gray nodded hesitantly and Natsu huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “I can't believe I never saw it before. I’m such an idiot.”  

“Saw...” Natsu’s lips were on his before he could finish his sentence.  

Gray’s brain blanked out for several seconds until common sense caught up to him and he responded enthusiastically. This wasn’t like any of the false kisses they’d shared, designed to trick the guard or the nobility. It was soft and warm, and Natsu’s hand was on his face, running a tender thumb over his cheekbone, which Gray was  _certain_ he’d never done before.  

“Wh...” they broke apart and he blinked several times, Natsu’s fingers still brushing his cheek. “T-there’s no... the guard... n-nobody’s watching...”  

“I know,” Natsu said, voice soft. “Wasn’t doing it for anyone else.”  

“Oh,” Gray said, then leaned forward for a second kiss, bringing a hand up to rest on the back of Natsu’s neck. Natsu ran his fingers through Gray’s hair as they kissed and Gray moaned softly, feeling his heart pattering in his chest.  

A shout broke them apart – someone at the top of the hill. Nobody had seen them yet, but it was only a matter of time. Natsu grabbed Gray’s wrist and pulled him to his feet, grinning at him.  

“Wait, so...” Gray said fuzzily, blinking a few times. “You... that was for me?”  

“Mmm.” Natsu said, crooked smile appearing on his face.  

“Does that... does that mean you... want...”  

Natsu squeezed Gray's hand and then let go, turning toward the path they needed to take back to the Gallows. He was backlit by the last rays of the setting sun, bouncing on the balls of his feet in anticipation of the run – and the possible chase. Natsu beckoned to Gray, then turned and took off at a sprint, calling back over his shoulder.  

“You’ll have to catch me to find out!”  


End file.
